Excelsior
by SaintDogStreet
Summary: Post-COE. "Well, Jack," Ianto's ghost reasoned, "You've never let a little thing like death stop you before." Janto.
1. No Place Like Earth

Summary: Post-COE. Onward and upward are really the only directions left to go. Janto.

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations. Specifically, sex with ghosts. Well, ghost. Just the one, really.

Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, Doctor Who, or any other characters, places, themes, etc. that you might recognize. I'm not making any money of this, and I have no money to give should you decide to sue or whatever. Cheers.

A/N: So, this started as an exercise in writing dialogue (chapter two), and then I realized I might have a plot. Might. Still not quite sure. Probably a little OOC. Reviews adored. Thanks and enjoy:

* * *

Excelsior

* * *

_There in the twilight cold and gray,_

_Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,_

_And from the sky, serene and far,_

_A voice fell, like a falling star,_

_Excelsior!_

-Excelsior, Henry Longfellow

* * *

Chapter One: No Place Like Earth

* * *

Fucking aliens.

You never could trust them.

(Okay, maybe not _all_ aliens. That was a bit harsh. Kind of hypocritical, really. But Absquatians. Definitely Absquatians. Fucking Absquatians.)

They'd left him on Earth. _Earth_, of all places. The last place in the known universe Jack Harkness wanted to be.

Too much bad mojo.

Too many bad memories.

It had been nearly a year since Jack had left Earth for what he had _hoped_ to be the last time. Turned his back on Torchwood and the whole fucking planet. Left Gwen Cooper-Williams there with her husband and left the rest of the world to rot.

There hadn't been anything left for him. Nothing but a frozen body in a highly classified tomb.

Fucking Earth.

Fucking aliens.

And now, here he was again.

_Fucking_ aliens.

Since he'd stepped on that first spaceship away from Earth, Jack had been galaxy-hopping with abandon. Drinking and sleeping around and otherwise entrenching himself in the grieving process. Or something like that.

Okay, so maybe that last endeavor in Absquat had been a bad plan. But really, how was he supposed to know that the guy had been the son of a king? It's not like he had even been a crown prince, or anything. Geeze.

The leaders of Absquat had promised him hospitality in exchange for his rather impressive clean-up of their little invasion problem. Should he have suspected that sleeping with princes wasn't included in the deal? They really should have made that clearer.

Because if he had known they'd ship him off to _Earth_ of all places for his little royal rendezvous he would've kept it in his pants, thank you very much.

Okay, probably not. But he would've at least considered discretion. Dismissed it, of course, but he would've _considered_ it.

Now, here he was. No ID, no money, no psychic paper, no bullets. They'd let him keep his coat at least. Probably because he hadn't had on anything underneath it. His Webley and wristband had both been secreted away in the lining, and he'd put them in their rightful places once he'd hit earthen loam and the departing spaceship had disappeared into the atmosphere.

Of course, they hadn't just dropped him off on Earth. Oh no. They had dropped him off in _the middle of fucking nowhere!_

A few birds screeched and evacuated their respective trees before the rainforest fell deathly silent. Jack surmised that he had yelled that last part out loud.

He was in the jungle. The bloody jungle. It wasn't fair. Not a city or a drop of booze or a warm, attractive body other than his own for miles.

Fucking jungle.

Fucking aliens.

* * *

Jack was trudging.

And Jack didn't trudge.

He strutted, he stalked, he stormed, he sashayed. He did not _trudge_.

He needed to make a mental note not to trudge through the jungle mostly-naked again. He _thought_ he had made a mental note the _last_ time he'd done so, but apparently not.

The rainforest was not being kind to him. Screw conservation. They should burn the whole bloody thing down. He was getting mud in places mud definitely did not belong. And his feet hurt.

He had been walking for hours and miles. The rainforest was hot and muggy and filled with all sorts of weird creepy-crawly things he did not want so close to his privates. At least not without buying him a drink first.

After a while, Jack dimly became aware that he wasn't walking over decaying leaves and branches anymore. He was walking on a road. A shitty, bumpy road, but a road nonetheless. His torn feet were leaving bloody footprints on the dirt. A road. And roads meant civilization.

Jack looked up. The sun was setting, and the sky above the dark forest was a medley of gaudy gold and pink. In the distant gloom he could see the white and yellow lights of a town glowing steadily. Maybe a quarter of a mile away. Jack picked up the pace. He left a trail of red footprints into town.

The crumbling adobe town looked like it hadn't changed in the last few hundred years or so. Rusted cars and donkeys swerved around each other on the street. Dark-haired children with skinny legs were playing catch in the last dregs of twilight and a beautiful girl in a long skirt was pulling laundry off a clothesline strung between two apartments.

Jack outlined a plan in his head. Firstly, he'd get a room somewhere. A shower was high on his list of priorities. Getting some clothes would also be a good idea. Maybe try and find a decent dry cleaner's. Get some food. Something to drink. Drown his miseries in alcohol and get into a bar fight or two. Sleep with the pretty girl in the long skirt. Get off the fucking planet.

It was a good plan.

Jack approached an old building for the first phase of his plan. It had a long vertical sign with most of its lights out claiming "_Hotel El Dorado" _flickering weakly in front of it. The building looked like it had once been grand, a luxurious hotel catering to the rich and well-traveled, but had fallen hard and hadn't gotten back up. Perfect. How fucking appropriate.

Before going through the peeling double-doors of the front entrance, Jack checked his reflection in the window. Okay. So, he was mostly naked, barefoot, with leaves clinging to his tangled hair and rapidly-healing scratches twisting up his arms and face like roads on a map. Mud was clinging to his greatcoat and every inch of his skin. His eyes were tired and frighteningly haunted, surrounded by dark purple bags. He hadn't shaved since... he couldn't remember. If he kept this up he'd have a beard. Ew.

All in all, he thought he looked dashing enough to con his way into a hotel room.

Jack straightened his coat, squared his shoulders, and burst through the double-doors. He strode across the lobby to the check-in counter, and a bored receptionist looked up in surprise as he approached. Jack leaned one elbow on the counter and gave his most mind-blowing smile.

"Harkness. _Captain_ Jack Harkness. I've had an awful day, lovely, and I'm in dire need of a bed. Your finest room, if you will. I don't know how long I'll be staying. Depends on the company, I suppose."

Jack waited. The receptionist stared.

"Okay, you're next to finest room would be fine. Just hand over the key, beautiful. I'd like to make this transaction quick. I've got important things to accomplish, you know."

The receptionist gaped. Jack fidgeted impatiently.

"_Any_ room, really. Any one at all. Doesn't even have to be a suite! I just need the key and I'll sign and we'll all be on our way. Alright?"

The receptionist continued to gaze confusedly up at the Captain. Finally, Jack couldn't take it anymore.

"What's the matter?! Haven't you ever seen a mostly-naked man try and rent a hotel room before? Listen, I just want a goddamned room! You are a hotel, aren't you? You do have rooms, right? Well, I want one! I'm tired, muddy, and pissed off. I've been trudging through the goddamn rainforest for hours now! I slept with a prince-- who, mind you, wasn't even a crown prince, so it shouldn't even count-- got shipped off a perfectly good planet I had only just rescued from certain doom, had to spend a mind-achingly long spaceship-ride with a group of guards terrified I'd steal their virtue-- because, you know, I'd already diddled a prince! what levels would I stoop to next?-- and got booted to the last planet in the entire universe I want to be on! I'm being bloody _haunted_ with memories of my dead... friend... lover... employee.... _Ianto_-- who's death, I'll have you know, _I_ was responsible for-- and I got _mud _on my _coat_! This thing is a trademark! All I want is a room, a shower, and a shag! What is wrong with you?!"

Friend? Lover? Employee? Jack didn't do labels. Ianto was Ianto. That was enough.

Jack had jumped up somewhere in the middle of his rant and begun to flail his arms more wildly with each word. The dark-eyed receptionist was now huddled back in terror from his tirade. Finally Jack stopped, panting harshly.

"Perdóname señor," The receptionist whispered, "No hablo Inglés ."

"Oh, fuck it all!"

* * *

Jack finally managed to get a hotel room. It was rather impressive, really, seeing as he did it without money or ID or speaking the same language as the proprietors. And they always said he'd need more than charm to get through life. Hah.

He'd accomplished a good portion of his plan. He'd taken a shower, sent his coat to be cleaned, and wrangled up some decent clothes. He had thought about getting food, but as usual his stomach was too full of grief to be bothered. He still needed to find the beautiful girl he'd seen and sleep with her, get drunk, get into a fight, and leave Earth, but the night was still young.

Until then, the ceiling was occupying his attention nicely.

He'd collapsed on the bed, and hadn't moved in quite a while. The souvenir cuts the rainforest had given him were healing rather nicely, at least. He was cool and clean and comfortable. There was absolutely no need for movement. His examination of the stained ceiling continued.

"Took you long enough to come home, didn't it, sir?" A voice asked.

"Technically, I'm not home. I'm in Bolivia. And don't call me sir."

"I meant Earth, Jack. It's been bloody boring without you." Ianto explained.

Jack turned his head to the side. Ianto was sitting in the chair in his hotel room. Ianto. The dead friend/lover/employee/_Ianto_.

Sitting in his hotel room.

Oh, fuck.

Jack sat up quickly. "Who are you?"

"Ianto Jones. But you already knew that."

"Ianto Jones is dead."

"I know."

Jack looked at Ianto. Really looked at him.

He was wearing a suit Jack didn't recognize. Jack figured it was what he'd been buried in. He was sitting calmly and straightly in his chair, looking at Jack expectantly with familiar wide eyes.

He was also see-through.

"Are you a ghost?" Jack demanded.

"As best as I can tell." Ianto answered.

"Why are you here?" What?! What kind of question was that? Jack's brain wasn't working properly. _Ianto_ was _here. _Who cared why?

Ianto blinked. "To see you, Jack."

"Are you haunting me?" Jack tried to shush the analytical part of his mind again. What was with the stupid questions? Ianto was here! And besides, that was one question he really wasn't sure he wanted the answer to.

"I don't think I'm _haunting _you, per se. Well, I suppose I am. But not in a creepy flickering lights and wailing noises kind of way. I just wanted to see you."

"Oh." Jack said stupidly. This was all rather hard to process. Ianto was dead. And in his hotel room.

In Bolivia.

"Yes." Ianto agreed. He certainly acted like Ianto. All the mannerisms were the same.

"Do you know that you're see-through?" Jack questioned.

"Oh. I suppose I am. I wonder..." Ianto concentrated. For a second he flickered in and out, like a TV with a bad connection. After a few moments he stilled, opaque and solid looking. Jack reached out to touch him, but drew his hand back.

"That's better." Ianto said with satisfaction once he was relatively not-dead-looking. He looked back at Jack. His eyes were full of love and fear and weariness and a hundred other things Jack couldn't grasp. Eyes of somebody who'd been in the darkness. The Nothingness.

"Ianto..."

"It's been a long time, Jack." Ianto whispered. The lights flickered. Jack looked up and then stared at the ghost with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry," Ianto apologized embarrassedly.

Was Ianto really there? Was this some sort of alien technology fucking with him? Was this a dream? A hallucination? Had he gone mad?

Jack didn't know. And he wasn't sure he cared.

The point was, Ianto was back. Who cared about the who or how or why?

Jack had seen a lot of strange things in his rather long life. He wasn't even sure the scared ghost of his dead lover appearing in a hotel room in Bolivia counted in the top ten.

It might not have been the strangest thing to happen to Jack, but right then it felt like the best. His heart ached.

Ianto was back from the dead.


	2. Talk Is Expensive

_Warnings: Language, implied sex, and violence._

_Disclaimer: Not since last I checked.  
_

_A/N: Thanks for reading, reviews appreciated. Have fun:_

* * *

Chapter Two: Don't Listen to What They Say, Talk Is Bloody Expensive

* * *

"You're dead, Ianto." Jack felt the need to point out.

"Well, Jack," Ianto's ghost reasoned, "You've never let a little thing like death stop you before."

"Yeah, well, normally I'm the only one dying."

"Bit hard to be on the other side of, isn't it?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Being up and walking around? Why yes, it's quite enjoyable. Beats that blasted tomb you had me locked away in. Dreadful accommodations. I expected more from my pension."

"I'll be sure to bring it up the next time I chat with Torchwood's benefactors. But I was referring to you taking the piss out of me."

"Oh, yes, that. Of course I'm enjoying it. You're an awful hard man to unhinge, Jack. I revel at each opportunity."

"I missed you."

"Yep."

"..."

Ianto examined his fingernails with casual disinterest. Jack gaped.

"Yep? _Yep?!_ That's it?"

"Yep."

"Since when do you say 'yep,' anyway?"

"Mmm. What would you have preferred, Jack?"

"Howabout, 'Oh, Jack, I missed you, too! And your devilish smile and unbelievably sexy body!'"

"Well, that too."

"So, you did miss me?"

Ianto sighed. "Oh course I missed you Jack. More than anything. More than life itself. And believe me, I missed life a _lot."_

"So, why the 'yep?'"

"Well..."

"...Well, what?"

"You've always had difficulty... expressing your feelings. Or having feelings. Sometimes I'm not sure which. I suppose now that you're finally opening up I'm a bit... under-whelmed."

"Seriously?"

"I've been dead a long time, Jack. I've been waiting a long time. Maybe I was hoping for a bit more than 'I missed you.' 'Yep' seemed like the appropriately tempered reaction."

"What would you have preferred?"

"You could have mentioned my sexy body, you know."

"You know... you don't really... have a body. Strictly speaking."

"Fair point."

"I missed you, Ianto. I missed you so much it _hurt._ Every day, every moment, all of time. I missed you when I remembered, whenever I tried to forget, when I walked on Welsh soil, when I was so far from Earth I could barely remember it. I missed you when I breathed, first breath to last. Missing you hurt more than dying ever has. I never hated immortality more than when I was missing you. And I missed you all the time."

"I missed you too, Jack." Ianto said softly. For a moment, the two just stared at each other, eyes the colour of heaven trying to see into one another's souls. Jack thought he might have an unfair advantage in that regard.

Finally, Jack cleared his throat.

"So. About this whole... dead thing."

"I was wondering about it myself."

"How did you come back?"

"Well..."

"...Yes?"

"Death is a complicated thing, Jack. And life-- life is even more complicated. The universe is full of things we can't even begin to understand. I've seen them-- God knows you've seen them. Life, death-- you defy both of them all the time. The why and the how and the who have been debated for eons. Maybe there's an answer. Maybe the whole point is the question. Maybe we're supposed to live never knowing why we're living, until we die. Maybe we're not supposed to die. Is life finite? Is death?"

"You have no idea, do you?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

"Hah! Ianto Jones admits to not knowing something! I'd never thought I'd live to see the day."

"I don't know _everything, _Jack," Ianto grumbled.

Jack snorted. "You've certainly had no problems claiming to."

"I don't need to know everything. I content myself in knowing more than you."

"I'm older than you can believe, Ianto. I've been to more planets than you can imagine, experienced things you couldn't even dream of. Hell, I've slept with things you couldn't even dream of."

"And yet, you still can't work an espresso machine."

"Well, that's why I keep you around, isn't it?"

"And here I thought it was for my nice arse."

"I can think with something other than my penis, you know."

"Captain Jack Harkness-- what other hidden power will he reveal next?"

"...I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue."

"Considering the things I've witnessed you do with your tongue, I'm not surprised."

"Don't knock it, it's come in handy a time or two before."

"Only with you do party tricks become a matter of life or death."

"Hey, I never said it was a matter of life or death."

"With you, Jack, it's _always_ life or death."

Jack ran his eyes up and down Ianto's ghost. "Apparently not."

Ianto shifted uncomfortably underneath Jack's stare.

"Ianto... what are we going to do about this?"

"Well..."

"I'm open to any ideas."

"We could always pull a citizen on it."

"Pull a what?"

"A citizen."

"Okay... And for those of us who don't know everything, that means?"

"You know... we could deal with it how normal citizens seem to deal with everything."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Well, when things like aliens invading and space ships filling the skies and carnivorous monsters shredding people into bite-sized portions happen, citizens manage to move on. When citizens witness something unexplainable they tend to... rationalize it. Pretend it never happened. Move on with their lives and try not to think about it too much."

"Oh, pull a_ citizen_."

"Yes."

"You're suggesting we ignore the problem."

"Uh-huh."

"Act like nothing's wrong and hope it will eventually stop bothering us."

"Precisely."

"Drown it with copious amounts of alcohol and reassure ourselves of our sanity and otherwise act normal."

"Right."

"Have lots and lots of sex."

"...Okay."

"Great! When do we start?"

"Well, I think now would be a good time to pretend that everything's fine and dandy. We've been doing an admirable job so far."

"I meant the sex, not the rationalizations."

"Oh."

"Yes," Jack said expectantly.

"Remember the whole not having a body thing?"

"I'm sure we'll find a way around it. I've worked with less."

"I'm sure you have."

"You're dead, I can't die. We make quite a pair."

"Is this necrophilia?"

"Philia? I hardly know ya!"

Ianto sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "God give me strength." Jack mused over something.

"I've never done it with a ghost before."

"I feel so special."

"...You are a ghost, right, Ianto?"

"Last I checked."

"I mean... you're here, right? You're not just a figment of my imagination?"

"Jack, if I was a figment of your imagination, don't you think I'd be wearing less?"

"True. But... I mean... this is absurd even by my standards. I'm not going crazy, am I?"

"How could you tell?"

"I think you'd be less insulting if you were a figment of my imagination."

"I don't know, Jack. I mean, you're not exactly known for your cheery imagination."

"My mind is a bit of dark place, isn't it?"

"It's certainly not a place for women or children or people with gag reflexes."

"It's been scary in there without you, Ianto."

"I'd be flattered if I wasn't so upset."

"Upset? Why are you the one upset? You've come back from the dead! Life is peaches and roses!"

"You're a mess, sir."

"Well, don't try and sugarcoat it, Ianto."

"You think I like seeing you like this? You think I like that you're falling apart since I've gone and your world went to hell? That I get some sort of satisfaction because you seem to be suicidal?"

"No--"

"Good. Because I don't, Jack. It hurts me to see you hurting. This is the last thing I wanted."

Jack shrugged. "Don't die this time."

"You should've moved on, Jack."

"Well, it's a good thing I didn't, isn't it?"

"I'd rather you be happy."

"What, so it's okay for me to be happy and for you to come back to nothing, but it's not okay for me to be miserable without you? It's okay for you to give up your happiness for mine, but not the other way around, is that it? It's alright for me to find someone new and have you come back and be the one alone? "

"Yes."

"Fuck, Ianto. Why are you willing to sacrifice everything-- _anything_-- for me?"

"I should think the answer is obvious, Jack."

"What did I do to deserve you?"

"It's part of being a dashing hero."

"I _killed_ you, Ianto."

"Right. Funny how I don't remember it like that."

"Memory's a tricky thing."

"So is survivor's guilt."

"Is that what you think this is?"

"It's not your fault, Jack."

"Yes it _is_."

"No, it isn't."

"God, Ianto, you'd be alive if not for me."

"Well, we seem to be getting over that speed-bump rather nicely so far."

"I'm sorry, Ianto. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Jack."

"No it's not!"

"You are impossible to argue with, do you know?"

"This isn't an argument! It's me telling the truth and you being in fucking denial!"

"Good to know you value my opinion, Captain."

"I _killed_ you!"

"So I've heard."

"Fuck!"

"No, unfortunately for all parties involved, I think at this point we've moved on from that."

"Your death is my fault."

"It's _okay_, Jack."

"How? How is me killing you okay?"

"Alright, setting aside the fact that you _didn't_ kill me, if you had-- then I forgive you."

"...What?"

"Forgive you. You are absolved. It's all over. Let the guilt trip end. No hard feelings, okay?"

"It's not that simple."

"You are going to insist on dragging me down into your pit of despair, aren't you?"

"It's not a pit."

"I'm quite adept at welling in my own despair, Jack. I rather preferred it when you were helping pull me out of the darkness, not turning off all the lights."

"I don't deserve you."

"Well, you're stuck with me. I mean, I'd like to see you try and throw me out."

"Why don't you hate me for what I've done?"

"I think the whole 'I love you' thing gets in the way."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"You're dead."

"You're quite into circular conversations, aren't you?"

"It's my fault."

"And 'round and 'round we go."

"I don't understand how you can love me."

"I'm beginning to get dizzy."

"I--"

"Jack! SHUT UP!"

"..."

"Err... Sorry, Sir. Jack. Sir. Sorry." Ianto cleared his throat.

"...I think killing your lover is a bigger infringement on social niceties than rudeness is, don't you?"

"Oh, God! He never stops!"

"Ianto--"

"Jack."

"You--"

"Just stop. Please."

"But--"

"You're giving me an awful headache. I don't even have a head."

"Wel--"

"You said sex, Jack. I've been entrapped under false pretenses. This is nothing like sex. Not even by your loose standards."

"No--"

"Would you be happier if I blamed you for my untimely death and refused to forgive you?"

"Would you do that for me?"

"Will you shut up?"

"No."

"You didn't kill me, it's not your fault, I don't blame you, and I love you. Should I write it down?"

"It might help."

"I can think of far more useful things to be doing with my hands."

"Can you actually touch things? Have we figured that out yet? I mean, will you just pass through them or what?"

"I knew distracting you with allusions to sexual favours would eventually work. And I don't know. I think perhaps if I concentrate hard enough..."

"If you can keep your focus, I will be severely disappointed in myself."

"That will make two of us."

"You know, if you are just a figment of my grief and despair and slow descent into madness, than that means that us having sex would just be masturbation."

"I... am not sure what the proper response to that is."

"It's kind of kinky, isn't it?"

"Well, at least we've moved on from the necrophilia."

"Technically, masturbation is always necrophilia for me. And you."

"And, we're back."

"Necrobation? Masturphilia?"

"I believe most people just say 'Ew.'"

"You haven't even tried it, have you?"

"It... wasn't high on the list of my priorities when I came back from the dead."

"I still want to know _how_ you came back from the dead."

"We were ignoring that, Jack, remember?"

"Oh, right. Still, it's interesting..."

"And just when the sex is in reach, he takes it away again..."

"I mean, there aren't that many ways to resurrect people, are there?"

"So close..."

"There's the glove... well, gloves... or nanogenes, obviously, but..."

"Perhaps if I..."

"..."

"..."

"Did you just take off your shirt?"

"Yes."

"...Your ghost shirt?"

"Yes."

"...Where did it go?"

"Ah. I think I just made it... fwoosh."

"Fwoosh?"

"Yes."

"Can you... un-fwoosh it?"

"Do you want me to?"

"_No._ No. Not at all. I was just curious."

"Good."

"I mean, you took your shirt off. And your tie and jacket, too. And they disappeared. But you can get them back?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Good God. I don't rightly know. It's just something I can do. Ghost instincts."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So, they went to, like, a ghost closet?"

"Jack, I am sitting here shirtless, patiently waiting for you to ravish me, and you're questioning the semantics of ghost wardrobes."

"Sorry. It's been a while."

"Right. And I've just been shagging my way through the nothingness."

"I just mean..."

"....Yes?"

"Do you want to... take things slow?"

"..."

"I mean... the first time around... we started with the whole sex thing--"

"--I am a big fan of 'the whole sex thing'--"

"--and maybe this time we should, I don't know, cultivate our relationship."

"We're not grapes, Jack. We don't need to be cultivated. We already have a nicely ripened relationship."

"I don't want to ruin this."

"I want sex."

"I always want sex."

"I know. So how is it now, after-- after we were apart for an _eternity--_ you don't want to have it with me?"

"I _do._ It's just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't want to..."

"_What?_"

"I..."

"...Would it help if I fwooshed my pants?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Oh."

"Uh-huh."

"You know... we haven't even figured out if we can touch, yet."

"I don't mean like that... I mean... You love me so much, Ianto."

"_Oh._ You're saying that you don't..."

"No! No, I'm not saying that at all. It's just... there's so much lying on this. There's so much between us--"

"Jack, the only thing between us that's preventing us from having sex, is air."

"I don't want to lose you. Not now that I've just gotten you back. Not ever."

"You're Captain Jack Harkness. Your reputation of horniness spans galaxies. The when and the who have never bothered you before. You've never hesitated to shag somebody--anybody-- before. Why now? Why me?"

"Loving me is a dangerous occupation, Ianto. People die, you know."

"Jack... I never felt more alive than when I was with you."

"I don't want a repeat of the first time around."

"...Specifically, when I was having sex with you."

"You are a hard man to resist."

"Apparently not hard enough."

"You're awfully hot for a dead guy."

"Back at you."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Jack... I've _missed_ you."

Jack leaned into Ianto. He stopped, a inch from his skin. Or what would've been his skin. If he had had skin. Ianto was staring at him, before he slowly closed his eyes. Jack's breath fluttered through him.

Jack closed the distance between the two of them, pressing his lips into Ianto's. He was cold. Ice cold. Jack deepened the kiss. Ianto flickered in and out of solidness, buzzing against Jack's lips. He moaned low in his throat and passed his hands through Jack, trying to grip his shoulders. Jack grabbed him, feeling him disappear and reappear beneath him, relishing the staccato of the touch. He twined his hands in Ianto's hair, losing and regaining his grip. He felt the stuttering of Ianto's hands traveling down his back. Jack's mouth parted, filling with chilly air.

He was kissing a ghost.

...Kinky.


	3. Breakfast Out of Bed

Disclaimer: Not so much.

Warnings: Sexual situations and foul language and possibly violence. And, uh, necrophilia? Implied necrophilia, at the least.*cough*

A/N: You've probably gathered by now that this story is updated... sporadically. To be generous. I haven't been working on it at _all_, but I had this written a while ago and completely forgotten about, and since I found it I figured I might as well post it. There's a plot in here, somewhere, and someday I may dig it out. Until then, this story is on the back burner. Like, the back burner on someone else's stove. At any rate, don't expect frequent (by anyone's standards) updates. Sorry bout that. Thanks for reading and reviewing, enjoy:

* * *

Well, it turned out they certainly could touch. Ianto had to concentrate hard on staying corporeal, and subsequently flickered in and out on occasion, creating quite a unique feeling in Jack's opinion.

It had also been rather cold, but Jack hadn't minded.

Now, spent, they lay sprawled side by side on Jack's bed. Or rather, Jack lay. Ianto sort of... floated.

"That's sort of disconcerting," Jack remarked casually. Ianto was hovering about six inches above the bed with a contentedly muzzy look on his face. He rolled over in the air to face Jack as he spoke.

"Mm-hmm."

"Is that all you have to say, Ghost-Boy?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"I take it that it was as good for you as it was for me?"

"Mmm."

"You know, normally this is the part where we fall asleep, completely exhausted by our Herculean--"

"--I suppose you know from first-hand experience--"

"--mind-blowing, earth-shattering, fantastic, rowdy, unbelievable, sweaty, gorgeous roll in the metaphorical hay."

"I don't suppose we have to bother with sleep anymore."

"Fancy another go?"

"Again? Jack, unlike me, you have a body. A body that can get worn-down. I think we're breaking records here. Let's not break _you _next."

Jack scoffed.

"I know you can regenerate yourself from death willy-nilly and all that, Jack, but it doesn't mean that it's an enjoyable experience for me."

"I've never died from too much sex before."

"First time for everything."

"Well, at least I'd die happy."

"There's always that."

"So..."

"_No_... Go eat, or sleep, or do something otherwise human."

"But..."

"_Jack._"

"Okay, okay. S'not like I would actually die from a sex-overdose anyways. Honestly. You flatter yourself, Ianto."

"Right. Now, food. Sleep. Recuperate."

"You're awfully bossy now that you're dead, you know that?"

"_Now._"

"Yesh, mashter. I'm going, I'm going."

Jack got up and dressed as they bickered. He spun around for Ianto to critique.

"I'm just running over to the cafe down the street. Be back in a _flash_. I look presentable enough for society, right?"

"You look like you just had a long night of sex."

"Exactly."

He made it to the door and then froze, hand clenching the door-handle. He flexed his fingers and cleared his throat.

"Ianto... you'll still be here when I get back, right?"

"Of course, Jack."

Jack spun around.

"Don't go anywhere."

"I won't."

"I mean it. Don't... don't leave me again."

"I'll be here when you return, Jack. I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't fwoosh out on me."

"Never."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"I'm going now."

"I can see that."

"What if you're not here when I come back?"

"I will be. I said I would be. I promise, Jack."

"Pinky swear?"

"Ghost's honour."

Jack's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Sometimes I'm afraid if I only blink you'll be gone when I open my eyes again."

Ianto gazed at him. He was awfully mussy for a ghost, his hair sticking up at odd angles and his eyes still heavily-lidded from sex. He lazily floated naked and relaxed above the bed. His body was faintly ethereal, and Jack could just make out the rumples of the bed-sheets beneath him through his translucent skin.

"Go on, Jack. Eyes open or closed, I'm still here."

Jack went.

* * *

"Good news, everyone! My boyfriend's come back from the dead!"

The cafe's patrons stared at him. Jack figured it was probably a good thing they didn't speak English.

Boyfriend. Wasn't that interesting? He'd never really thought of Ianto in that sense. Employee, friend, fuck... boyfriend. Huh. Maybe.

Well, shouting that his "man who loves me but I'm not quite sure of my feelings for because I have issues including but not limited to commitment but who I more than occasionally sleep with and who fixes me delicious hot beverages" was back from the dead just seemed overly wordy.

_Labels._ Who needs 'em? Silly twenty-first century.

Jack made his way to the diner's counter and ordered a decent meal to go with broken Spanish and a blinding grin. Ianto had been right on one account, he was starving.

It occurred to him that maybe he should get something for Ianto. Do ghosts eat? He doubted it. The same probably went for booze. Shame, that. What's the fun in coming back from the dead if you can't get shit-faced?

The dead's inability to get drunk brought up memories of another one of his fallen teammates, which Jack hastily put aside. He was still riding the high of Ianto coming back, no need to put a damper on that.

Seeing as he was in a good mood, Jack decided to actually pay for his meal. Never mind where the cash came from, that wasn't the point. He treated the nice lady at the counter with another Captain Jack Harkness: I'm Devilish, But Don't You Love Me? Smile (patent pending) and raced back to the hotel.

Jack thundered up the stairs and skidded to a halt in front of his hotel room, the bag of food clenched in his hand swaying hard at his sudden stop. He fumbled in his pocket for the brass room key and cursed loudly and creatively as it slipped through his fingers. Come on, come on.

_Finally_, Jack managed to out-smart the door and burst into the room. He glanced around wildly.

Ianto raised an eyebrow.

"Are you alright?"

"Who? Me? I'm fine. Just fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Good. Because you look like you've seen a ghost."

"..."

"..."

"I was more worried about _not_ seeing a ghost, actually."

"I did promise I'd stick around."

"So you did. I brought food. You don't really need to eat, though, do you?"

"I don't think so."

"What happened to your clothes?"

"I un-fwooshed them."

"I can see that. Why?"

"Not all of us are comfortable with just walking around nude, Jack."

"Hey, I have a coat. It's a trademark, in fact."

Ianto said nothing but gestured at the bag of food in Jack's hand. Jack sat down in the chair opposite him. Ianto had moved to the breakfast table, and was indeed fully dressed, his dapper funeral suit neatly pressed and unwrinkled. He'd smoothed his hair out, too.

Casually, Jack opened the bag and spread his dinner-- breakfast? lunch? he hadn't really been keeping track-- out on the table.

"You don't mind if I eat in front of you, do you? It seems kind of rude."

"Since when do you care. At any rate, I'm sure I'll live. Relatively speaking, that is."

Jack's chewing filled the silence. Ianto studied him and tapped his fingers mutely on the table. Jack watched as they sunk beneath the surface without Ianto's notice.

He did feel better after eating. Strictly speaking, he didn't _need_ to eat. But it helped keep his stunning body well-maintained. And it was something he'd been neglecting the last year or so. No wonder Ianto looked at him like he was afraid Jack would break.

"So... what now?"

"Now you sleep."

"I don't need to sleep."

"Humour me."

"Ian-tooo." Jack whined.

"Jack, you haven't been taking very good care of yourself these last few months." Well, no, he hadn't. He'd been too busy falling steadily apart, thank you very much. He was grieving. For the loss of Ianto and Torchwood and his ties to planet Earth. "So just go to sleep. Just for a little while. For me."

"Alright. Fine." Who was Jack to deny somebody's dying-- or dead-- wishes?

Jack made his way over to the bed and stripped, waggling his eyebrows at Ianto mischievously. Ianto kept his expression professional.

"You're staying, right?" Jack asked. Just to be sure.

"Right."

Jack flopped on the bed. Ianto didn't move, so he waved him over with one hand and an over-exaggerated come-hither stare. Ianto walked over.

"I do hope you're not planning in sleeping in that."

"I wasn't really planning on sleeping at all, Jack."

"Fwoosh your suit?" Jack brought out the puppy-dog eyes. Ianto rolled his.

"Fine. But no funny business. Just sleep."

Jack grinned.


End file.
